* Preeta Samarasan*
I want to write a blog post about Everything. The blog post to end all blog posts, the blog post that will unify all the properties of blog posts. It seems, at a time like now, not only necessary but unavoidable, or at least the attempt seems unavoidable. At a time like now, on a day like today, any attempt to draw conclusions about — no, even to describe — one small corner of the world feels shockingly self-absorbed. I am supposedly in the business of telling small truths, of bringing to life tiny corners of the world and the mind. We writers of fiction are always reassuring each other that this is sufficient, that the specific is universal, the personal is political, the greatest truths are in the littlest details. So we carve out small sacred spaces for ourselves, quiet spaces in the middle of the world’s clamour, and some of us find ways to seal these spaces hermetically, so that for the two or three or eight hours of the day that we spend with imaginary people, the rest of the world disappears. But if you are one of those who has not learned such tricks — if you let the world into that space, even a whisper of it, a breath, a glimpse of the front page of a newspaper, a quick before-I-start-work glance at your Facebook feed — then you know what it is to doubt.